Reset
by Seravy
Summary: Kannazuki no Miko: Even though Himemiya Chikane never existed, two parts of one soul shall meet and part again and again shoujo ai, yuri, ff, Chikane x Himeko
1. Default Chapter

Reset

By: Seravy

A/N: Gokigenyou-good day

She felt her before she even saw her. A glimpse of her hair, the sway of her presence was more than enough to ignite that burning nostalgia she had felt time and time again. Her mind blurred into an angelic vision of pain as she reached out and embraced the longing that begged from the buried recesses of her heart.

This was the warmth she had been searching for, the perfect fit in her arms, the gentle light her body instinctively knew and craved.

"…Are you hurt?"

And just like that, the spell was broken.

Himeko immediately retracted her arms, her cheeks that tried to recall that warm softness were now overwhelmed by burning embarrassment; She had just embraced a stranger in the middle of nowhere.

"I-I… umm….ah….I--"

She thought she had outgrown this habit but the fiddling of her toes that showed through her sandals was telling her otherwise.

How was she to explain her actions or the loud thumping within her chest?

But she didn't need to say anything as a gentle brush fluttered just below the corner of her left eye, wiping away a stray tear that she didn't know was there.

"Tears are not fitting for such a sunny day."

The crisp cool texture of that voice laced around her like an old lullaby. It was then that she had the courage to look up, watching a pale finger that had just touched her rise to those pink curving lips. Her stuttering had stopped but that was because of the breathlessness within her chest as the faint drop of her tear was kissed.

The changing signal of the traffic light clicked its erratic beat. People took their last hurried steps while her senses can only respond to the small gentle smile directed only to her.

"Gokigenyou."

She didn't know that it was a parting gift as it swayed away, a quick brush by her side. Her eyes burned again, the salty squeezing of her throat unbearable. She can't let it end, not when she had waited for so long. Himeko turned, chasing the familiar figure with her blurring eyes that was fading further and further---

"And that is why you were an HOUR late…"

Her friend was never known for punctuality but an hour was inexcusable. With a finger tapping incessantly on the plastic table, she listened, her forehead scrunched in annoyance. To further emphasize her irritable mood, Mako shot a sharp look across the table and the effect was immediate.

"I'm so sorry Mako-chan! I'll make it up to you! I promise!" pleaded the blonde girl. Her hands were clasp together in a tight prayer.

Mako sighed, taking another bite from her triple extravaganza banana sundae (with extra chocolate and strawberry syrup). Worrying while sitting in an ice cream shop after two hours of intense track training with nothing to eat since the morning is not a good combination. In the past hour, she had managed to try and finish all five of the menu's decedent specials, each deliciously tempting in their own colossal way. Not to mention the impeding impact this would have on her figure later on despite her already rigorous training. Nevertheless, Mako was glad to see her high school roommate, whom she had not seen in months.

"So… then what happened?" inquired Mako, deciding to end her assault. Payback shall come later during dinner.

Himeko lifted a finger to her chin, thinking back to incident.

"Well…everybody started honking and yelling---"

"No no no, I meant that person. What happened?"

Mako immediately regretted asking as Himeko's shoulders slumped, a dim sadness traversing the soft contours of the girl's still childish features.

"Gone… I looked everywhere but…"

At the last word, her voice cracked, holding the necklace around her neck and the regret that longed to pour from her eyes. That glittering shine in those violet orbs infected Mako as well, concern washing over her protective nature. Her friend had gotten a lot stronger over the past few years, no longer the dependent and fragile girl she had met six years ago but it pained her to see this change over nothing but an imaginary dream. "Don't worry!" encouraged Mako with a wink, "You'll meet that person again! It's a small world after all."

Himeko embraced those words and took the safe haven it had always offered. She managed a smile, unable to imagine life without her closest friend.

The two soon parted the ice cream shop after Mako finished her fifth sundae to the shop manager's astonishment and they proceeded to the busy streets of Tokyo as originally planned. Even though they haven't seen each other in months, not once did awkward silence, often found in departed friendships, find its place. Stories of their new lives in university and reminiscent tales of their high school days filled every second without delay. And while their mouths and tongues did their rigorous work-out, the girls' hands and feet were laboured with intensive browsing from one boutique to the next, handling all sorts of items, from bags to pots, socks to manga.

Although one may think it odd that a pair of young teenagers had gotten away from all that temptation with just a manga and a pair of shorts, unknown to these vultures of advertisement, they were saved by tight student budgeting. Himeko, as promised, treated them both to a quick dinner at the food court of the mall before resuming their escapade of "shopping till you drop".

"It's been so long!"

Mako stretched her arms over her head, feeling the pleasant aching in her muscles. With all this walking, the ice cream guilt was finally settling its grudge.

Himeko nodded with a smile, holding Reiko-sensei's newest work, "Bremen's heartaches", close to her chest. She was determined not to peek at it until she returned home with a snug surrounding to thoroughly savour the experience.

The two girls, through their chatter, rounded a corner and entered a CD shop as requested by Mako. Apparently, there was this CD she had been hunting for the last week, sold out at every store she had visited so far.

The door chimed as they entered and Mako immediately dashed to the counter for her desired item while Himeko simply stood, every limb and breath frozen with rigidity.

There she was; on the wall behind the counter, all the other handsome faces around her incomparable, head tilted slightly back in graceful concentration. In a deep night one piece dress, her fingers danced on white keys as light as her skin, the moment frozen forever.

Her eyes were closed though. If only she could pry them open and finally see what they looked like… how she would look like when they meet.

"Himeko?"

Only a soft murmur left those breathless lips. If only she could touch them.

"It's her…" whispered Himeko.

"What?"

The recognition brought about a bang of vertigo in her chest, igniting the unknown yet solid feelings in her. Himeko grabbed onto her friend, unable to contain the surge of longing rushing through her soul.

"It's her! Mako-chan, it's her! It's really her! This was the person I met on the street!"

Mako, shakened by Himeko's outburst and iron grip, took a glance at the same poster she saw her friend staring at just moments ago and her brows dipped with query.

"Are you sure?"

"I just know it! It's her!" defended Himeko, passionately. That girl may have been wearing a pair of sunglasses but still, she was certain. Even if she was a single star in the midnight sky, Himeko knew she'd still be able to recognize her amongst the million.

"See that pendant! She had the same one on! And the hair, the face… everything!"

And instead of delivering a random hug, Himeko found herself on the receiving end as Mako attacked her with one of her infamous bear hugs, its tightness more intense than she last remembered it.

"You lucky girl!! I'm so jealous!" squealed Mako in total abandon, "Indirect hug!!!!"

With her mouth open with inquiry, Himeko stood with incomprehension as her friend cuddled her from all possible angles, feeling the curious stares they were getting from other visiting customers.

"Was it like this? Or this? Give me the details! Better yet, give me your clothes! They must still have Miya-sama's scent!!"

"Are you alright, Mako-chan?"

Mako paused her string of outburst and glanced at the blonde girl in her arms with curiosity.

"You do realize who she is, right?"

Himeko smiled a sheepish grin in response, confirming Mako's suspicions. As much as Mako didn't want to admit it, her friend did live up to the blonde stereotype quite well at times.

"I always knew you were clueless but this is Miya-sama we're talking about!"

Another confused shake of the head, prompted Mako into a full explanation, her recent obsession taking over.

"Fushio Miya. Concert pianist since the age of 16 and have already performed with some really big names and orchestras around the world. Her debut CD came out last week and hit the charts like nothing had ever before! Not to mention that she is talented and just absolutely GORGEOUS!!" ranted Mako all in one breathe.

"And since when did you listen to classical music?" asked Himeko, overwhelmed by Mako's enthusiasm.

"If it's Miya-sama, I'd listen to death metal."

Chapter 1 END

I couldn't help it. Compulsive writing. Chikane is the HAWT. I didn't want to use a new name so I stuck with Miya. But she gets to be Chikane again later on. And next chapter… Juri from Shoujo Kakumei Utena makes her appearance as with Otoha-san.


	2. Chapter 2

Reset: Chapter 2

By: Seravy

A/N:

Fushio – fu wind, shio tide

Miya – Mi beautiful Ya arrow

Ecchi – perverted in a less severe way. In this case, used in a teasing manner

Abandoning her painfully calculated budget, Himeko decided to splurge on the Fushio Miya CD, a sold-out item that seemed to be on every shopper's want list. But that did not waver the young girl's determination as she offered her entire week's spending, including food and rent, onto the poster behind the counter. Mako tried in futile to stop this madness that even she herself was incapable of and to Himeko's fortune and dismay, that poster was the last in stock and the manager had to decline the tempting bid.

However, taking his well-earned business degree to heart, the manager made a counter-offer on the CD at triple the price for the second shipment due to arrive in two weeks, cash up front. It took five more visits to local CD stores and Mako's most earnest persuasion before she could vaguely sway Himeko's eager agreement to the absurdity.

It was great to see such improvement on her friend's usually weak resolve but timing sorely needed some work. Mako's unyielding surveillance and firm hand around Himeko's arm was the only thing that got them safely back to the blonde girl's shared apartment without ridiculous spending. And even then, it was entirely due to the bait; a magazine which Mako pulled from her backpack, featuring a column on the talented young artist.

Himeko soaked up every word, "Bremen's Heartaches" deserted to a corner of her room, lonely and abandoned. Even when her friend playfully poked her cheek, she simply batted it away, eyes not leaving the page for even a second as the radio gently played its historical tunes of the baroque and classical period.

"Himeko! You're turning into an obsessed fan!!" squealed Mako with schoolgirl delight.

"You're no better," grumbled Himeko, pointing to the "I love yous" and scribbled little hearts around Fushio Miya's glossy photos.

"Oh? And who was the one willing to starve herself for a week so she can googoly-eye Miya-sama?" questioned Mako with a victorious smirk painting her delight.

Himeko hid a blush. Even she herself can't explain the sudden and uncontrollable urge to own something of someone she barely knew, that yearning to know her better through whatever means. Part of her was thankful that she was able to see her again, but the reason for it sank with heavy veracity.

"Come to think of it, Miya-sama must have thought you were one of her stalker fans which explains why she was so nice about your little harassment."

"That's not helping, Mako-chan…" sighed Himeko, grimacing at the choice of words.

Mako gave her playful pat on the head before returning their attention back to the magazine resting on the pink covers of the bed.

"Fushio Miya ranked first in the Japan National Tennis championships three years ago but gave up her spot on the national team in order to pursue a career in the performing arts. Graduating from high school, she had declined six full sport and music scholarships to universities from around the world, including Yale and Julliard, and joined the Gewandhaus Orchestra for its world tour," read Himeko aloud, every fact snatching bits and pieces of hope from her already diminutive stash.

"It's too bad she gave up tennis. I'd love to see her in one of those mini shirts!!"

"Mako-chan no ecchi," teased Himeko.

Mako accepted the comment with a raucous grin, eyes glinting with scheme.

"Oh…but you haven't seen anything yet …!"

The bed wailed from the tumbling weight and laughter as Mako pinned herself onto Himeko's back, arms and hands reaching around for its usual test. A few firm squeeze through the baby blue cloud patterned pajamas under the blonde girl's protest and Mako knew she was still in the race.

"You haven't matured one bit."

"Mako-chan!" huffed Himeko with red alighted cheeks, already more than conscious about her lacking in assets. The radio continued its unnoticed role before Mako's mirth until the moment they have been waiting for. A deep clear voice announced the second bait that Mako had used to save her friend's tight budget.

--Next up, we have "Rözen Garten" written and performed by Fushio Miya. You can find this piece on the young pianist's debut CD, "No where". The CD came out just last week and was sold out in seven cities across Europe and Japan. Ladies and gentlemen, Fushio Miya--

It was as if Himeko could see those slender fingers as they touched the first keys, synchronized with the moment that she held her breathe.

Fushio… the Chinese characters of the wind and tide as soothing and warm as the melody that sang to her. Each note seemed to be chanting a message that can't be vocalized any other way. She almost felt egotistical as it seemed to be singing specifically to her, calling her to find the creator of this longing and compelling tune.

Glancing to the magazine photo of the pianist, she touched the two kanjis that followed her surname, the name that everybody knew her by with respect. Something clutched at the bare flesh of her heart, rousing a long lost promise harmonizing with the song.

Miya. Beautiful arrow.

This magnificent woman had pierced her heart with the same intensity and utter beauty as those two kanjis represented, leaving her to nurse a bleeding beating wound… or was it simply reopening one?

"Himeko?"

Mako's voice, laced with concern, finally brought her attention to the wetness washing down her cheeks. But just as her friend reached out in comfort, she quickly blinked away her tears and moved her lips into a smile.

"I'm fine. Really," Said Himeko, "So… you're staying over tonight, right? It'd be like high school again!"

Mako retrieved her hand, answering with a sad smile of her own. Whenever it concerned this illusionary lover, she always found herself on the outside.

That night, Himeko fell asleep with tears stinging her eyes. Even her friend's comforting presence cannot stop the song from haunting her sleep.

_Find me_, it whispered, _Find me._

------------------------------------------

I'm sure we are all well acquainted with the "five more minutes" charade told by our semi-conscious mind in the narrow chasm of sleep and wake. But who are we to fool as we cheat ourselves of a leisure morning in trade of that measly amount of guilty slumber. It's sad but a fact of life and often than not, that split second of complete bliss is immediately KO-ed when we finally gather enough courage to take a glance at the clock. Five minutes had suddenly turned into twenty or more.

Mako had already warned her before she left early in the morning with another quick wake-up call before she boarded her train to Kawasaki but that had done little to disturb the blonde girl's usual routine.

First came the rough teeth brushing while grabbing her black portfolio by the side of her desk. In a rush of anxiety, everything was simply swept into the hard recesses as her mind failed to identify and process each item separately. Hair was out of the question, and she settled on a struggle of limbs, fighting to make herself look presentable with whatever came first out of her closet. She had to rely entirely on her instincts as even a simple glance in the mirror was costly. The door to her room slammed shut, keys jingling with lively fingers that worked clumsily in completing their task.

She didn't even bother to lock the front door as her flat-mates lazed on the couch, bidding her morning. Such was the beauty of afternoon classes and how Himeko wished it was simply a class that she was going to be late for.

Where Himeko was heading was a place known for punctuality and more than ever, she wished for the ability to teleport as her part-time job was a good forty minutes walk away. Although that was the economic and cardiovascular choice of commuting, like every morning, she found herself boarding the subway. Her legs tingled with agitation as the long vehicle continued its run.

Never had time passed so slowly, each stop taking its time to open and close, announcing its cautioning in three different languages. Her chest continued to beat its fast unsteady rhythm, readying every muscle for the fifth one. And just as the sliding doors hissed its opening, Himeko dashed through it with the precision of a sprinter on the gun.

Usually, she'd have the leisure of walking the rest of the way but having stayed up until three in the morning had really cut down on her sleep, a commodity that she can never seem to get enough of.

The traffic light blinked its final warning and Himeko couldn't help but let loose a few wails as she found her athleticism being put to the test, an area she found herself extremely lacking ever since she could remember.

More than once, she found herself apologizing to unknown faces with her choppy maneuver through the tall suffocating crowd. The only thing guiding her was the large angular symbol resting amongst the series of tall buildings. On her first day at work, she was told that it was derived from the contours of a fencing sword.

Through the glass revolving doors, she waved the receptionist morning, never able to fully appreciate the marble floor and expensive decorating as she swept by everything without a second glance.

Taking an abrupt turn, she marched through the front lines of the battle field, ring tones exploding from all directions as endless chatters erupted from the sides. But she did not waver from her narrow line of passage, using the last spurt of her energy towards the grand oak finished doors that everyone admired yet feared. And Himeko now had to face its contents. She was finally here.

Unfortunately, her short moment of victory combined with one of her natural talents loosened her guard and she found her legs clicking one after the other with utter disobedience. The handle gave way as her stepping choked, her body frozen as she flew through.

A loud cohesion of "Cotton baby blue!" burst behind her and Himeko immediately sat up, hands taming the unruly skirt.

"Perfect timing as usual, Kurusugawa."

The alto voice was regal and calm, immediately commanding Himeko to her feet, bowing her apology with flaming red cheeks.

"I'm so sorry!"

Himeko tugged at her knee length shirt consciously as she shut the door behind her, hands fiddling with the strap of her portfolio. Her legs were still weak and shaking from the strenuous run but she didn't dare let her posture waver, watching the woman behind the fine glass desk for a reaction.

As if finally remembering the presence before her, the woman unhooked her crossed legs and turned ninety degrees on her revolving chair in one fluid gesture. She let her gaze fall upon the girl who immediately stiffened. Seven minutes and forty two seconds was late but still acceptable and she decided to save her three word tardy speech for another time.

"On with business." She said.

Himeko reacted with precision, and immediately released her burden onto the ground, the loud unzipping audible in the quiet office. She truly regretted packing everything as nothing seemed to be the one she was looking for. Himeko couldn't stop her face from heating as she took out a stuffed bunny onto the honey hard-wood floor and placed it atop her pile of unnecessary items.

All the while, the woman watched the search with her hands bridged before her face, elbows propped on her desk, hiding an amused smile as her employee's face lit up. The beige binder finally made its way to her desk and she picked it up in apprehension, a fine eyebrow raised at the dried white spot, polluting the shiny surface.

"Toothpaste?"

"Sorry!" bowed Himeko with another apology.

The pages rustled its plastic protest as emerald eyes scrutinized them with casual ceremony. Although this was nothing but a simple task to the older woman, Himeko couldn't stop her heart from punching its nerves.

Her work was being assessed by one of the best in this industry, who spoke few words and even less on her face. Well known for her strive for perfection, Arisugawa Juri can be ruthless.

Himeko swallowed despite the dryness in her mouth, awaiting her sentence. She remembered her very first assignment of cutlery which was returned with nothing but a curt "redo it".

"These will do," said the woman, folding the binder back to its original state.

Himeko audibly sighed, the tightness in her chest releasing its hold. In the silent rejoice of her mind, she had missed the faint smirk hidden behind a hand.

"Now, about your next project… the group has decided for you to take this season's spotlight."

"Eh?"

That curt sound was the only thing that her throat can manage. Himeko stared at the woman before her, her knees jello in its supposedly solid form. Every season, the company always had a few large projects and amongst them, there was always one which stood out as the priority. The fact that herself and that priority was mentioned in the same sentence sent her mind into another heated frenzy.

"Dolce and Gabana," clarified her employer, who immediately savoured the next reaction.

"EHHHHH?!"

She herself wasn't familiar too familiar with the name but during one of Mako's rants, she was assured that it was internationally big and that one dress was worth at least three months of her salary.

"You should be happy. We fought real hard to get this one," said Juri lightly, appraising the wide innocent eyes and even wider mouth, gaping with protest.

"But-but I can't possibly take this project! I'm still an amateur! I mean, what if I messed up! What if the company went in debt because of me?! What if… what if---?!"

"Then you take responsibility and work for me for the rest of your life as my eternal slave."

"Juri-san…" froze Himeko, knowing that she had fallen for it, yet again. Another wave of exhaustion moved through her body, tired from the extreme ups and downs it had to repeatedly endure. Unknown to many, Himeko had learned that perfectionist Arisugawa Juri had a strange sense of humour, if not a knack for torture.

"You're too adorable when you panic, Himeko," chuckled Juri.

Sometimes, Himeko suspected that she only got the job because of the complete fool she made of herself on her interview.

"But you will be participating in this project as one of Inoue-san's assistants," continued her employer.

A part of her already drained mind lapped up this information with complete joy although the lather cringed. The expensive studio, elaborate equipment, the large entourage, tight deadlines and they all scared her. As the main photographer's assistant, she'll more than likely be touching all of those with immense expectation. Somehow, it just felt like too large of a leap from her burrowed equipment and scouting assignments that can be accomplished all by herself and at her own pace. Not to mention that Inoue-san was well known to be extremely picky and cranky in the morning.

"Thank you so much for this opportunity but… this is such a large responsibility… and I have classes on top of that… I'm not sure if I can handle it… perhaps someone else with more experience, " said Himeko, quietly.

"I won't force you but do consider it. It's a great opportunity."

"I know… I just don't want to let you down."

Those amethyst orbs wavered with a sort of sadness, staring into the ground, pulling Juri up from her $800 euro chair. She walked over to the sulking girl and laid a hand atop of the silky blonde head, a rare soft smile playing on those tight full lips. Aside from entertainment value, she was very fond of this young woman and her obvious lack of self-confidence at times truly pained her.

"Trust my instincts if not yours then," said Juri.

Himeko could only stare, entranced and towered by the strong emerald in those eyes. They have a way of imposing order that render one incapable of denying what it wanted. A rush of blood painted her cheeks as she watched those long fingers pick up her beige binder, then motioned for her to follow.

The riot outside of the office immediately quieted for the majestic presence, everyone having a sudden concentration on their work. And like royalty, Juri strode by them without heed, decreeing this respect and silence like the air she breathed.

Himeko tagged behind the long powerful strides in awe. It was no wonder her employer was nicknamed the "panther", a true contrast to the woman who had just blessed her with such small warm smiles.

Juri stopped by her secretary while Himeko was instructed to wait at the guest reception room for Inoue-san. The Aki room to be exact. She nodded and headed for the elevators in the front foyer, pressing the up arrow. There were a total of twenty levels to this building. The first six, including the basement, owned by Revolutions Studios with three studios and two offices, all which she had visited on a regular basis.

A familiar "ching" chimed the coming of the lift and Himeko stepped into the quiet zooming. Hesitantly, she reached out and pressed the number "six" on the cool metal pad, immediately prompted to the next step. Himeko took out her employee card from her pocket then swiped it along the indicated mechanism jutting out.

Then was the part she enjoyed most. Among the twenty floors displayed before her, she selected 6, 9, 6, 9, 1, 5, 9, 3.

Such was the security of the sixth floor. She had only been there on a few special occasions as that floor was devoted entirely to the welcoming of special guests or important conferences and even then, she was only able to take a few hurried glances of two of the ten rooms there.

With its efficient motors, the elevator chimed its completed task and slide its arms open. A straight wide hall of almost a blinding white opened before her. Along the sides, were the ten doors, five on each side all lined up along the seemingly endless hallway. Every door had its own unique design and label and Himeko couldn't help but raise her forefinger and thumb on each hand in two "L" shapes over her eye.

Suddenly, one of the doors slide open and disturbed the surreal silence through the one labeled "Aki". Himeko zoomed to its place and within her vision, framed in her fingers was a beauty she never thought humanly possible.

Step by step, the hallucination bathed in the white light of the halls approached her. The midnight hair encased her soul into the baby-blue eyes that watched her with a sort of gentle curiosity. Closer and closer they were becoming until once again, that same greeting touched her.

"Gokigenyou."

This was the same way that they had parted, brushing by each other like strangers. Just by recalling that moment, that suffocating pain returned as well. She just can't let it happen again. A phrase that both welcomed and parted can't end in the lather. Himeko reached out and took destiny into her hands once again.

"Don't go, Chikane-chan!"

The moment those words left her mouth, a sinking dread swallowed her sanity whole.

_'Oh no… I've done it again…'_ thought Himeko with dread. In her hands was the pale arm of the one she had waited for and yet, she couldn't entirely rejoice. Her heart thumped furiously, a line of hot sweat slowly seeping its way through her entire body.

"I see you've met already."

Himeko recognized the voice and found the courage to look up. She didn't exactly know when her employer had showed up but there was she, a half a head taller than the young pianist, looking down.

Himeko followed her line of vision and suddenly felt like her entire head can erupt under a single realization; she had yet to let go and now that their attention was entirely on her hands, they crumbled under the pressure and froze in its place no matter how hard Himeko willed them to move.

She felt sick. Stomach and heartbeat moving in ways she never knew was possible, twisting and turning for release until…

---Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr grumble-  
---grrrrumble----------

Now she knew why experts around the world highly recommend breakfast in the morning.

Chapter 2 END

This took longer than I thought. Guess Otoha-san will have to get her appearance next chapter. Thanks for reading.

As for this being a crossover, it isn't, rest assured. I'm not a big fan of crossovers either but instead of making an original character, why not just use a character I find really interesting? I won't be bringing in any other characters outside of the KnM universe or any aspects of the Utena series… just using Juri to fill in a role. Consider it as Juri auditioning for the part and got it. Seravy


	3. Chapter 3

Reset: Chapter 3

By: Seravy

A/N: Gen – illusion

Juri had cancelled all of her appointments for the day, procrastinating some, rescheduling a few, shoving others to those below her, save for one. It was hard to believe that _she_ was here although Juri wasn't sure if she had been waiting for her or not. One thing for sure, she had never forgotten her. It was hard with those postcards that came from various European cities with its one-liners for the past two years.

They met in the Gen room on the sixth floor, a room reserved and designed with this particular guest in mind. Over the course of those 730 days, this room had undergone numerous renovations and none of them stayed for more than a month. Nothing seemed to be good enough and Juri had no choice but to leave its finalization to the moment those sky blue eyes lay its gaze on every detail.

Skipping the "how are yous", since she already knew the answer to that, Juri spoke.

"What do you think?"

The girl before her, nothing but a child when they had first met, placed her wine glass onto the clear table that separated her from her acquaintance; One of the three pieces of furniture that decorated the room.

"A little empty," she replied softly, noting the bare white walls and their singular existence in this unbalanced and angular room.

"I like the sofas though," she continued, "Very comfortable."

Juri nodded, a soft "cling" chiming as her own wine glass touched the thin triangular surface. She entirely agreed as this pair of black leather sofas was the only thing that remained from the original design. She had scouted this piece in Germany, probably the first in six years that wasn't sent to her as a gift, going through the entire process of entering a shop, selecting an item and paying for it from her own pocket. Come to think of it, it applied to her clothing as well. There wasn't a single piece in her closet that wasn't delivered to her door except the one she was wearing right now.

She had personally asked a favour for the white vest and dress pants, everything in a single colour scheme. The vest was cut just above the low waistline, hanging off her hips. The folded collar was flared with a sharp edge, a signature touch of the designer. The only thing that escaped white was the gold buckle of her leather belt, the faint tracing of a gold chain necklace, and her skin tone, prominent on her arms and neck as the top dipped in a modest V shape. For today's occasion, she allowed her waist-length tangerine locks to be free from its usual confinements of tight curls. Two inch mock boots added to her model height of five feet eight.

The woman across her chose white as well; a simple one piece dress that ended above her ankles, showing enough to let the imagination wander into dangerous ends. Juri floated her gaze over the creamy skin along those pale arms, exposed neck, ending in those slender fingers that could cast spells and weave magic. She liked how they match today, as if they had somehow guessed what the other would wear, allowing the black sofas to heighten their singular presence.

But she couldn't let her interest show too much. That would spoil everything.

"So… Why me?" asked Juri, taking up her glass of white wine, as the slab of glass tittered on its only support; a sphere that held everything on it with delicate balance.

"Fishing for compliments already?" noted the girl, a small smile playing on her lips.

"I just like to hear it from you."

Juri waved the white wine in her glass before sipping some of the liquid as she waited for the answer. Dragging the moment a little longer, the girl answered.

"Because you're the best… and I settle for nothing but the best."

There was always that calming and fluid way that words seemed to be delivered by those lips, as if nothing can ever make her falter. But Juri knew better.

"Good," said Juri, "It's meaningless if I don't hear it from the best."

The older woman raised her glass before taking a large gulp.

"You flatter me," replied the girl, that small customary smile still on her mouth.

"I say we flatter each other."

They were special and they knew it, the spotlight panting at the hilt of their heels without beckoning it. They could take and control whatever they desired and it was only with selected a few that they were able to share, an exchange of words rather than the natural submission of the other and even then, it was a constant struggle.

"Humour me though… What made the great Miya-sama change her mind?" asked Juri, allowing a hint of light amusement in her words. "If I remember correctly, Channel made a similar offer two years ago."

"Because," she answered simply.

Unsatisfied, Juri leaned her body over the table until they were only three breaths away, making sure that she had Fushio Miya's full attention.

"What is it that you're looking for, princess?" she whispered. It was an inside joke, her being the few that knew her real name behind the greatness the public knew and admired her for. Her inspection was being met full on, although she can detect the slight wavering in those blue orbs as she probed for her accomplishments within her absence of two years.

"I don't think you have the right to ask me that."

The smile remained but Juri knew it was time to retreat after purposely crossing the boundaries that made them together. Returning to her seat, she reached to her left side and retrieved a red binder, the practical excuse for their meeting.

"Here you are. The list of the best," said Juri, "Inoue Sanjirou will be taking the lead."

The pianist accepted it before skimming through its contents. It would be best if she knew most of the staff by name and face, one of the first lessons she was taught.

"I trust your judgment," said the pianist, resting the binder on the slab of cool glass that held their emptied drinks as well.

"I know you do."

Their eyes met and agreed, sharing another three glasses of white wine before ending their first conversation in two years. But as predicted by Juri, their steps halted before the door.

The taller woman watched from behind, knowing exactly what the other woman was thinking for once. She had wanted to show her companion this piece and made sure that it can only be noticed as one exited.

"Common subject, amateur work but a nice piece nonetheless," commented Juri.

Miya drew a breath, gazing at the scenery before her. It was mediocre as Juri had said and most wouldn't have given it another thought. But only to those who failed to see behind the rose garden that was in full bloom. Off to the right side was a part of an otherwise thick and old tree and she can't help but notice the small plain of grass between the roses and the tree.

"It's like… something is missing."

Her voice but a bare whisper, entranced and captured for once in her life.

"And you can't help but stare at it," added Juri.

Staring, watching, taking it apart as if one would find what would complete the puzzle if one tried hard enough. Miya moved her eyes to the corner where it was signed, a name she remembered seeing. A young girl with blonde hair and plum eyes looked back at her as she recalled the personnel list within the binder earlier.

"Kurusugawa… "

"Himeko," finished Juri, the joke now complete. She had spoken the name everybody else had forgotten. "Very cute blonde… She's one of the assistants in this project. I scouted her when I bought this."

"Like when you scouted me?"

Even though she can't see her companion's eyes, Juri can feel the smug smile that came with that question.

"In a much different manner."

Juri reached out to turn the silver knob of the door but a soft touch on her arm stopped her. She looked at the pianist, and observed the drifting concentration with a knowing smile.

"You like it?"

"How much do you want for it?" asked Miya, eyes never leaving the piece for a second.

"Priceless…" teased Juri, "Unless you have something else you'd like to offer me."

Fushio Miya looked to her and smiles were exchanged, both already knew what the answer was. Down the elevator, they were silent and parted ways at the front foyer where Juri offered to give her ride. Miya politely refused, adorning a pair of sunglasses before leaving through the front.

On other occasions, she would have called her manager who would have dutifully arranged everything but right now, she needed room. She thought that she had changed but before Arisugawa Juri, she was still nothing but a child and all it took was one simple question to destroy everything she had tried to accomplish for the past two years.

What is it that you want, princess? She was only able to answer with a hostile blow for here she was, back in Japan, right where she had started.

But perhaps it was truly fate that had brought her back, proven to her twice. Even now, that warmth still seemed to hover around her like a siren's song, beckoning her back with the promise of paradise and demise. Her arm still burned from the recent contact with a foreign passion that she never knew existed in this world.

If anything, she was obsessed.

The sun, bright like the day she met destiny, poured through the tall glass windows over their figures. Porcelain salt and pepper shaker, clipped between a jar of sugar settled over the pure white tablecloth as the menu was brought to them. She knew almost the entire room had their eyes on them but knew they would not be bothered. Such was the policies within this particular restaurant and she'd hate to be disturbed at this moment.

Carefully, Miya stole a glance at those amethyst eyes, remembering how they quivered with recognition, pain and something else as they watered in a way that made her heart split into two. This time though, they were tight in solid concentration with just a touch of panic and alarm, slightly shrouded by the menu grasped tightly in white hard knuckles.

"Don't worry, my treat," said Juri.

The face, with a pretty hue of pink lying just underneath, quickly brightened with a relieved smile which was immediately followed with flaming red cheeks and the need to seek refuge once again behind the mat-finished pages that listed the restaurant's various specials. Miya can't help but allow a small smile of her own, taking note of the quick mischievous twinkle that flashed in her acquaintance's emerald stone eyes. It was easy to forget their ridiculously expensive lifestyles at times, especially when they rarely had to pick up the tab. Some other patron in the restaurant or the manager's compliment always took care of that.

"No need to be shy, Himeko," encouraged Juri, "Order anything you want. I'd hate to leave the impression that I starve my staff."

Miya floated her gaze briefly to the tall regal woman beside her. Humour was a rare trait in the infamous panther and she can't help but notice the casual demeanor that had been adopted as well. It was as if she was afraid to scare the blonde girl who was close to sinking deeper and deeper into her chair. Her mind wandered back to the studio where all three of them met under a force of coincidence. She saw how gentle Juri had been as she laid a hand on top of the small woman who was on the verge of tears, smiling as she offered her to join them for lunch. A short pang of irritation hit her.

But she can understand. The seemingly childish woman across from them induced such an effect. One would either feel the need to hurt her or just cradle her into one's arms until whatever fear or sadness subsided.

Juri took the liberty of ordering for the three of them as her employee seemed to have incredible difficulty in deciding; a full course of soup, salad and sandwich, wrapped up with a decadent dessert of tiramisu was in the making.

"I believe we are not formally introduced," started Juri, "This here is Kurusugawa Himeko. A junior member in my photography team."

The blond head, a fine colour of milk tea in her opinion, dipped with a nervous introduction as she delivered her own with fluidity. It was hard to falter being bred this way.

Just then, Juri's cell phone rang. It was surprising as only a selected few knew of that number, and from the way the woman excused herself then held the phone at arms length as it touched her ear, there was no doubt that it was her manager, finally remembering that she had not informed the woman of her lunch plans.

But that would have to wait. Miya savoured the curious glances that was hesitantly flitting at her as she lifted her tea cup for a drink.

"Um…I…ah…"

"Yes, Kurusugawa-san?" she offered.

Himeko fidgeted with the table cloth's unusually silky texture before breathing in deeply and released the worry from her chest.

"… A-a-about before… well, I-I-I didn't mean to… umm…it was just---"

"It's quite alright," she assured, "Another cup of tea?"

The girl nodded as she gestured for the waiter. A young man, in full uniform poured their cups full but not leaving until he had snuck a glance at her. She met his gaze, politely thanking him before he bowed and left them to their privacy.

A quiet silence, tinkered with the tinkering of utensils and soft conversation, gathered around them. The girl that was now formally introduced to her continually lift her head slightly before bringing it back down, lips opening then quickly closing in an attempt to break the stillness. She knew she would have to do that herself with the question that had been sinking in her stomach moments ago.

"Back there, you called me Chikane… do I resemble someone you know?"

"No…" said the Himeko, her voice pixie and soft, "Actually, I've never even heard of that name… it just… kind of came out. And…well…"

"I see," intercepted Miya, saving the poor girl from the nervous wreck she was currently swimming in.

Another silence settled between them as Miya watched the struggling girl, every thought clearly filtering across the soft contours. Embarrassment, nervousness, delight and that something else once again. More than once she caught the girl sneaking peeks at below her face and although there was the usual small talk conversation she was used to conducting, she didn't feel like using that casual list of words and allowed the wait to continue until Juri returned.

"Sorry for keeping you ladies waiting."

"Was it Otoha-san?" asked Miya.

Juri gave a casual shrug before continuing.

"She wasn't too happy about me whisking you away."

"I see."

Gently, Miya excused herself, sighting the immediate wave of sadness on the small blonde girl. She would have liked to stay but she knew it was probably urgent as her manager never called unless it was absolutely necessary, especially on Juri's cell.

She burrowed the restaurant's phone and informed her manager of her location and other arrangements in five minutes. It never failed to irk her manager, who had grown to be more of a caretaker, of her refusal of a cell phone. Somehow, the notion that she can be tracked down anywhere was not appealing. And there was no need as she was rarely out of sight from the devoted woman.

On the phone, her manager was polite and compliant as always but she can detect the hint of annoyance in the back of her throat, directed not at herself but the proud woman with tangerine hair. Somehow, despite their brief encounters, the two never got along, especially her request for Revolutions Studios in taking her career's latest endeavor.

After she hung up, Miya strolled to the lobby and into the car that was already waiting for her, her manager set with her planner and reading glasses before launching into the urgency. But none of it clearly registered in her mind.

From her pocket she discreetly withdrew the pendant that had followed her since fifteen in a moment that had changed her life forever.

The small piece of metal, warmed from her body heat, was round, the center painted with a thin layer of gold in forming an elliptical shape of the moon.

Miya turned the pendant over and traced the inscribing of two names; one which was she named after and the other, a familiar stranger. The moment that girl had uttered those three syllables, she felt like she was closer to the secret behind this memento.

Fate. That was the only word that touched her mind. She never truly believed in fate, trusting in one's abilities and drive to succeed but there were times when she needed that comfort… that some greater force out there was watching and guiding them all in the midst of lost.

But she can't be sure yet, not until she was certain that this time, it wasn't her mind playing some cruel trick just to relieve her of everything like the last time, the reason she had left when they had only met, taking only the a single drop of sweet saltiness to remind her of the passing sun.

Miya retraced the pendant again before returning it back to its hiding place.

Chikane & Himeko.

Chapter 3 END

Chapter 4 teaser: Have you ever heard of the story of kaiawase?

"I have come for you, my child… and this time… you shall pay for betraying me again and again in this endless cycle. Divine retribution shall fall upon you as vicious and heartless as the destiny you have brought upon yourself."

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A/N: Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.

First try at Chikane's POV and it was hard. No wonder she broke down halfway through the series. Being kakkoi takes a lot of energy and skillz. Thanks for the suggestion PseudoDogma and FayeShinru.

Otoha got her appearance. Short, non-existent but she was there. I just love her too much to leave her out. She was really great throughout the series, especially the drama CD, although I did feel really sorry for her. That girl really deserves some loving. And not sure if one should be happy or sad about it… Otoha shall get her share of Himeko-torture. SHIIITAKE POWAAA and more!!!!!!

A small thing I was playing with Juri's studio. The ten rooms in the sixth floor are the following. Basically, each room follows the theme that the name suggests.

Aki, Fuyu, Haru, Natsu, Wa, Se, Gen, Rittai, Popu, Inshou

Fall, winter, spring, summer, Asian, western, surrealism, cubism, pop, impressionism


	4. Chapter 4

**Reset: Chapter 4**

**By: Seravy**

**Edited by: Kieli (first half of the fic)  
**

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A/N: Arisugawa Juri is from Shoujo Kakumei Utena (Revolutionary Girl Utena) 

Fushio Miya: 風潮 美矢

Kisaragi Otoha: 如月 音羽

Ojou-sama: the term loosely refers to young ladies. In this case, due to the -sama ending, it refers to the daughter from a rich family that you hear servants of a household use a lot (in anime at least. correct me if I'm wrong. Since Otoha addressed Chikane using this term throughout 99 of the anime, I decided to keep it)

* * *

No one knew why when Arisugawa Juri suddenly disappeared six years ago. Some attributed it to the scandal that revealed her sexuality; others speculated that the supermodel was actually murdered by an obsessed fan. However, she did return a year later (alive) as Revolution Studio's CEO and announced her permanent retirement from the runway.

In all honesty, no one understood how it was that this small company had managed to survive for the last five years. It did not have the monetary resources of its giant competitors, the latest equipment nor the most reputed talents. Yet, again and again, Revolution pulled through in a battle of David with a myriad of Goliaths. Many jealous competitors often attributed this fledgling studio's success to Arisugawa Juri's hyped reputation, stealing business through personal connections. Some simply called it a miracle.

Himeko, as with everyone who were handpicked by the infamous panther, knew better. Not only did Arisugawa Juri live up to her intimidating reputation, she was also an artist. Revolution was the canvas of her vision and those privileged with a glimpse of her art couldn't help but yield and submit. If one had to name the studio's competitive edge, it would be its ability to retain talents and work seamlessly as one, guided and protected by an unstoppable woman. Those stupid enough to challenge the panther always fell without question.

Hence, there wasn't a single soul down in Revolution's basement studio this morning who pitied Kisaragi Otoha, manager of Fushio Miya.

"Arisugawa-sama."

With her arms crossed and her left foot tapping incessantly against the cold gray cement, Himeko immediately knew the pianist's manager was not someone to trifle with. If not for the severe expression that she wore right now, Kisaragi Otoha could be considered a pretty specimen. She had long blonde hair twisted into French curls with luscious lips and a petite nose. When Himeko first saw her that morning, the small woman reminded her of a Victorian doll that little girls loved to carry in their arms. She seemed like such a soft polite person, walking dutifully behind Fushio Miya. However, Himeko found herself revising her first assessment as she passed her boss a colour pad that the head photographer had asked her to bring over.

"We're running late," Otoha pointed out. Even though she spoke using formal Japanese, her tone relayed none of the language's intended humbleness, only unabashed discontentment.

Juri turned her left wrist over and took a brief dispassionate glance at her watch.

"On time," was the tall woman's verdict.

Even Himeko was well aware that they were more than thirty minutes behind due to a few last minute changes.

"It's 6:34. The shoot was supposed to have started at 6:00 am sharp."

Without even looking over to the woman who showed none of the fear or respect that people usually afforded her, Juri replied, "We go by my schedule here."

Himeko couldn't help but cast a worried look at her employer who didn't even flinch under the hostile glare coming from the pianist's manager.

"I hope you're aware that your words don't turn back time," gritted Otoha, "And it's common courtesy to look at someone when you're talking to them."

"I'm multitasking," said Juri, calmly, her eyes never leaving the clipboard in her hands, "Anything else?"

"Other than the fact that you disappeared with ojou-sama yesterday without informing me FIRST, or the fact that you neglected to consult me before deciding the head photographer, no. I really don't approve of amateurs taking this project. We need seasoned professionals here."

"One. This is a photo shoot. Not a piece of veal. Time doesn't necessarily account for competence. Two. It was just lunch. You need to relax."

"I would if you'd start acting more responsibly," defended Otoha, "I truly do not see why ojou-sama chose you."

"Consider seeing a seasoned professional about that."

The tapping abruptly stopped and as if oblivious to Otoha's reaction, Juri turned aside to discuss lighting issues with Inoue Sanjirou, the man she had chosen to lead this project.

"Juri-san, I think she's angry…" whispered Himeko as Otoha practically stomped away. What was truly odd though was how the tall stoic woman had delivered her sarcasm. The comments were unusually harmless, not to mention how easily the panther had accepted that blatant challenge to her authority. It was as if she was having… fun?

"She'll get over it," replied Juri lightly.

Himeko found that a little hard to believe. However, as soon as the manager reached her charge/client, the storm of anger seemed to have immediately dissipated. They were discussing something quietly amongst themselves with Otoha jotting down notes and glancing down at her planner. Himeko could tell that Fushio Miya trusted her manager immensely seeing as the young woman had yet to move a muscle since arriving here, leaving Kisaragi Otoha to smooth out any last minute details. Comparatively, she was nobody, not even a nameless acquaintance who could freely offer a "Good Morning". Being only metres away didn't change the fact that they were practically strangers.

"Didn't know you were a Miya fan," remarked Juri.

Himeko quickly swatted her hands in frantic denial, realizing that she had spent the last five minutes oogling Fushio Miya. Somehow, she simply couldn't allow herself to be labeled a fan of the musician.

"I'm not! It's just that… I…"

"Couldn't keep your eyes off her?" offered Juri.

Himeko blushed, and as much as she would have liked to defend herself, she felt safer with her mouth closed.

"She has that effect on people."

It was then that her employer allowed her attention to stray from business, gracing it upon the young pianist.

"Is Juri-san friends with Miya-sama?" blurted Himeko before she could prevent the words from tumbling past her lips.

"A little more, a little less," came the short rejoinder.

Himeko didn't really know how to interpret that reply. It was a 'yes' that left so much to the imagination. For once, she felt something beyond admiration and respect towards her employer. The tall elegant woman existed in a world that she could only gaze from afar, a level that made her equals with Fushio Miya. It was in the manner in which they moved, the words that left their mouths, the way the world humbly worshiped them with their heads bowed low. For the first time in her life, Himeko learned what jealousy tasted like: sour with a hint of bitterness.

"Bring this over to Miya," commanded Juri, offering the storyboard in her hands.

"Eh? Me?" exclaimed Himeko, breaking out of her moment of self-loathing.

The panther merely dropped the pages into her employee's unsuspecting hands before carrying onto her next task. Arisugawa Juri never repeats herself.

Himeko couldn't tell whether her employer had chosen her out of convenience or sympathy for her hopeless star-gazing but nonetheless, her heart raced with anticipation and dread.

The plan was to walk over there and give Fushio Miya the storyboard. With luck, she might even be able to complete her task without embarrassing herself in the process for once. Then what?

She didn't have witty jokes at her disposal or profound statements that would leave a lasting impression. All she had to offer was casual conversation and small talk of the most uncreative kind. Most likely, it would be a short exchange, the pianist obliging one of her many "fans" around the world. But if there was one thing that Himeko had learned in life was the importance of perseverance. She wasn't about to give up without a fight. The chances were one in a billion but Himeko was more than willing to take that leap of faith. Some may call this utter lunacy but ever since her 16th birthday when she first dreamt of that hazy figure, she knew she had found the meaning of her life.

We are perhaps all born alone and lost into this world. Only by opening ourselves and reaching out, unafraid, may we dispel loneliness and find our place. Even though the dream had left a gaping hole in her heart, hope had also blossomed, the sheer bliss of knowing that someone was waiting for her in this large confusing maze of the world.

In times of fear, uncertainty or doubt, that simple piece of knowledge would give her the courage to push forward. She may still be just a shy common girl without any talents, but she was willing to change. She may stumble but she knew she had the will to stand up and try again. Himeko wanted to become someone strong so when she found that person, she could proudly take her place by their side. She may not be someone who was on every V.I.P. list but in the very least, she had learned to live independently, pursuing her dreams with hard work and diligence despite the obstacles that had stood in her way.

Under the envious gazes of all the Miya fans here today, the blonde apprentice pulled the thin booklet close to her chest then closed the distance that separated her from the world-renowned musician. If Fushio Miya is indeed the person from her dreams, she is waiting for her.

"Juri-san asked me to bring this over."

Her voice shook a little but nonetheless, a smile accompanied her task.

"Thank you, Kurusugawa-san."

"You're welcome."

That could have easily been the end of their conversation but Himeko refused to be professional and return to her post. After ruining her first two impressions, this was her chance to repair the damage. What she needed was a topic.

Today, the pianist was dressed in a simple white button up sleeveless shirt, matched with a long deep blue dress. The attire was modest with the shirt's top two buttons left unrestrained. The item that Himeko had tried so hard to ascertain in their last meeting lay seductively against creamy white skin.

"Your necklace… it's very pretty," commented Himeko.

"Thank you."

"Seashell?"

"Yes."

Throughout that short exchange, Fushio Miya had kept a small polite smile on her face, her voice soft against the loud bustle in the background. However, that did not conceal the fact that her answers were definite and brief, leaving empty awkwardness just after it had been uttered.

In turn, Himeko felt like an intruder, barging her way in and forcing the pianist to wear that flawless smile. Just remaining where she was proved difficult; every second that she lingered, guilt taunted her to give up and leave. How she wished for something sharp and witty to say. What a breathless picture it would be to have laughter pass those thin pink lips with mirth twinkling in those rich blue eyes. She could almost see it in her mind, but the full image refused to surface, like a memory forgotten. Suddenly, words passed her lips.

"Have you ever heard of kaiawase?"

"No, I haven't."

The curiosity in the pianist's cool voice urged Himeko to say more.

"It is an old traditional game where you match two pieces of seashells together. There can only be one fit. I once heard that it is also true for people. We are all born with only half a soul. Only by finding that unique second half could we be complete."

"That's a wonderful legend. Quite romantic too."

The photographer nodded her agreement, a light blush toning her cheeks. In all honesty, she couldn't remember who it was that told her this legend but along with that dream on her 16th birthday, it had become a part of her. It felt good sharing it with the pianist.

"Are you looking for the second half of your shell?" asked Miya as she rested her gaze on the necklace that the other girl was wearing.

"Yes. I believe that somewhere out there, there is that one single person who is waiting for me," admitted Himeko. Afraid of making a fool of herself once again though, she quickly added a few nervous laughs.

"It must all sound so silly…"

"Not at all."

The remark followed hers seamlessly, certain like successive waves. Himeko suddenly found herself seized by Fushio Miya's gaze. For the first time, she could look boldly into those eyes. They were a stunning clear blue, endless and eternal like the sky. Yet, endless eternity could be terrible thing, right? … especially when spent alone.

"Have you found that person yet?" came the airy inquiry, like a stray gust of winter winds, adrift without direction.

"I think I have…" said Himeko. She held the eye contact, open and unafraid, allowing Miya to see all of her secrets, truths and feelings, hiding nothing.

The pianist was the first to break away, utterly an "I see". Unconsciously, her hand touched the pendant that hung around her neck.

"They look somewhat similar," remarked Miya, "Especially the colour"

Seashells came in all sorts of shapes and sizes, colours and patterns. Both of theirs were petite, around the size of a coin with a soft unique pink hue, undisturbed by any other colour. Himeko immediately knew that they were more than similar… if only she could confirm it.

"Let's see if they're a match," suggested the pianist as if reading her mind.

Without waiting for a reply, Miya reached behind her neck and undid the clasp of her necklace. The thin silver chain dangled as she stood up, the shell pinched between two fingers. Himeko followed suit, aligning the two pieces.

Her hand was trembling, the fear of them not matching suffocating her lungs. Logically, it shouldn't matter if they were a match or not but something inside her wanted this confirmation, like a sign from the Gods to make this destiny.

Closer and closer, the shells approached…

Suddenly, a blunt loud crash sounded into the air. Even though they were in the basement, the ground jerked under the brute impact. Everyone immediately stopped what they were doing, turned towards the back of the room then gaped at where the emergency exits used to be. Those sturdy metal doors, stripped from the cement walls, now lay in pieces on the ground.

As the debris cleared, a large tanned man stood within the destruction. He was more than well built, almost as tall as the hole that he had created. The black gakuran that he wore was so long and tattered that it looked more like a trench coat than the traditional uniform for middle school and high school boys. Combined with the fingerless leather gloves, a pair of scruffy dark pants and the scar on his chest, he resembled a street delinquent from the 80s. His choice of accessory also matched his outdated look; a long thick chain that rested across his back then wounded around his arms. However, each metal link was unusually thick with a solid piece of cylindrical weight at each of the two ends.

"Found'ja priestess," he sneered, a wide pompous grin on his angular and rough face.

Four security guards, positioned around the studio whenever they have important clients over, immediately requested him to leave. They have already called for back up while keeping a good distance away. Given the damage that they had just witnessed, the four men in uniform suspected that the intruder was armed with explosives. Their tactic was to keep him calm and wait for help while diverting two of their numbers to start evacuating the basement. Unfortunately, the burly man had no such patience as the thick metal chain started to hover in the air. Before another negotiating word could be uttered, the weapon lashed out and knocked the guards into unconsciousness.

With priority given to important personnel, the other two guards stood between the man and his targets while a rush of people panicked in the background. Their tasers were out but neither of them dared to approach as if the tall shadow of the approaching menace were pinning them down.

"Never stand between a man and his woman," the man muttered before initiating the same attack to remove the final barrier to his prize. The two girls that he had came for were now clearly exposed to him and he indulged in a whistle.

"You are cute, sun priestess!" he exclaimed with glee, "Once I finish up with big-moon-boobs, let's go on a date!"

Himeko had no idea what he was talking about but she quickly moved herself in front of Fushio Miya, fists up en guard in her best imitation of a boxer. After witnessing how quickly the man had finished those security guards, Himeko knew she stood no chance. But if he was here for Fushio Miya, he'd have to go through her first.

"Don't come any closer!" threatened Himeko.

The nasty grin on the intruder's face merely widened with amusement.

"No need to get so worked up. I'll be gentle," he promised. As if to prove his point, he extended his arm but it was not in invitation.

Reflexively, Himeko shut her eyes tight, awaiting the worst until a sudden force pushed her to the ground. She landed hard on her side, the pain forcing her to open her eyes again. She released a horrified gasp at the sight before her.

The strike that was meant for her was now tight around Fushio Miya's torso, her arms forced down along the sides of her body. The large man gave a disgusted click of his tongue.

"Damn it, I said I wasn't interested in you," he growled, "That's why I hate girls with big boobs."

Miya let out a choked scream as the chain tightened to reflect its master's displeasure, her feet no longer touching the ground. Every metal link seemed to be trying to force its way past the bare skin along the pianist's arms. Like an angry crab, it was determined to crush its grasp until not a breath of space was left in between its pincers.

"I'm gonna squeeze the life outta ya just like that, boob-job."

With anger she had never felt before, Himeko immediately got up and launched herself at the man, throwing her fists down upon the arm that was keeping Fushio Miya hostage. Her punches proved useless though against the thick mass of muscles. The man simply extended his free arm and scooped her up against his chest.

"Wow! So soft!" he exclaimed.

His grin turned silly and childish but that did nothing to lessen the disgust and fear that was coursing through Himeko: Disgust at this man's brutality. Fear for Fushio Miya's life. Himeko struggled, trying in vain to distance herself from the man's body.

Suddenly, the grip that held her in place loosened and the man lost his balance from an unseen attack into the back of his knees. Himeko scurried away. When she looked back, she saw an open palm, coming from behind, smacking into the man's large ungraceful nose. A neck lock swiftly followed the attack.

"Unhand ojou-sama at once!" barked the pianist's manager, trapping the man's throat into the crook of her elbow. Her precise positioning conveyed her competence as well as confidence.

However, her threat only lasted a few seconds. Without warning, the forgotten chain crashed into her with savageness. The previous attacks were for swatting away nuisances, this one, however, was for revenge. Under the fierce momentum, Otoha's body soared like a pitched baseball in midair before crashing into the large backdrop screen that was brought in for today's shoot.

Freed from the blonde manager's attack, the man swore loudly as his eyes watered and his nose smarted, possibly broken. All he was concerned about was revenge and this unawareness to his surroundings left him wide open for another surprise assault.

From his blind left, before he could distinguish what it was, he caught a mist of pure white and chilling pain overtook his vision.

Arisugawa Juri was getting her share of payback through the fire extinguisher in her hands. After this thug's show of violence, it sent her employees into a panicked rush towards the stairs for escape. She, unfortunately, was caught up in that wave of people. By the time Juri fought her way out of the crowd, she was greeted with the unsettling sight of Miya's capture and Otoha's defeat.

A loud howl of pain echoed in the basement studio and to her satisfaction, the hold around Miya loosened. Unwilling to be the next victim to that devastating chain, Juri quickly threw the heavy metal can at the man before running towards the pile of rods and plastic screen to dig out the brave woman who stood up to a brute more than twice her size. As much as she preferred to be by Miya's side, someone else was already attending to her while another needed her help.

Himeko could not be more grateful for her employer's timely appearance. Beside her, Fushio Miya was coughing with occasional gasps of pain, but at least, she was alive.

Another growl of agony rumbled into the air, except this time, it was accompanied by the sound of destruction. The intruder, with the anguish of pain and the deprivation of sight, threw his chain wildly around the large but still confined space of the studio. Himeko, with an arm around Miya, was heading for the stairs that led up to the main floor but found their way threatened by this uncontrolled and suicidal rage.

Worst, the chain was now extending in reach, its circumference expanding. Instead of moving forward, they were stumbling backwards to avoid being hit. What was a desperate situation worsened as the weapon smashed into the line of spotlights high up in the ceiling. The first fell and crashed just a metre in front of them. Another one fell sharply behind them. It was only a matter of time before one of them finds its mark.

There was no time. Himeko flung herself onto Fushio Miya as chaos continued to erupt around them, wrapping her arms tightly around the body beneath hers.

'I need to protect her. I need to protect her.'

She could care less about what happened to her as long as _she_ was safe. After so long, even if they couldn't be together, in the very least, let her have the strength to do this one thing for her.

Chikane-chan 

And suddenly, the prayer within her burst into a sudden warmth. It started from her the middle of chest then expanded across her body. Himeko didn't know what it was except that it was powerful and overwhelming but something inside of her told her to hold on just a little longer. She did as her instincts told her, fighting against the molten lava that was threatening to take over for as long as she could.

Then, everything turned black.

* * *

And black was the colour of this world, at least, this other world that existed outside the realms of humans, deities, and all that was good. A vortex, spiraling omnisciently up above, illuminated this piece of darkness with an eerie glow of murky purple.

There was nothing here except a plain of rocky terrain. Eight tall wooden arches, battered and tired, stood at various heights across this path towards nothingness. Despite the landscape's inability to bore any life, a person occupied the top of each arch except for two. On the one that was marked by the character "three", there were two men. One of them was on his knees while the other, dressed in an immaculate black suit, stood over him.

"You were to awaken her, not kill her, third neck."

The voice was an attractive one, smooth and deep, vibrating with dignity and displeasure.

The third neck, as he was referred to, the same man who had attacked the studio earlier, scowled with his head bow low. He was not use to containing his anger much less bowing to someone and his pride, along with his permanently blind left eye, burned.

As if sensing his private disobedience, a clap of black thunder swiftly fell from the deadness of the vortex, crashing into the large burly man. He screamed in pain, his built body providing no protection against this torture.

From the arch labeled "two", a woman, dressed in what looked like a modified and scandalizing version of a nun's habit, appeared by the man's side.

"Please forgive him, master," she pleaded, on her knees.

The torture continued for a few more moments before stopping. The woman immediately went to her brother's side, catching him as he fell limp into her arms.

Reveling in the various emotions coursing through his six followers--hate, fear, pain, frustration, curiosity, indifference—the man in the black suit smiled. Honestly, he wasn't that upset but it seemed like something fun to do to help ease the excitement building in his chest.

Soon… very soon, he'll have revenge. There is nothing more divine than overseeing the fall of your foes, the wrong done upon you balanced. After years, he'll even get to experience what humans called "delayed satisfaction". He chuckled out loud despite the fact that his joke had been private.

"I have come for you, my child… and this time… you shall pay for betraying me again and again in this endless cycle. Divine retribution shall fall upon you as vicious and heartless as the destiny you have brought upon yourself."

* * *

By the time she regained consciousness, Himeko found herself alone in a large exceedingly comfortable bed. The unique mesh of chemicals that surrounded her told her that she was in a hospital. Trying to recall the reason as to why she was here though sent panic through her dulled and confused senses. She struggled to get up but as her hand landed on the mattress, Himeko realized that there was something in her right fist.

With mixed curiosity, her fingers carefully released its tension and in the middle of her palm, two pieces of pink seashells lay, unharmed, one on top of another.

It was a perfect match.

* * *

**Chapter 4 END**

Sorry for the really late update but at least to it shows that this fic is definitely not dead. Also, only the first half of the fic is edited so excuse mistakes in the later parts. Thanks a lot Kieli for your editing work. Superb job as usual. (And technically, as per usual dramatic effect, I guess I should have included some sort of ominous evil in the end but I wanted it to end on a positive note)


	5. Chapter 5

**Reset: Chapter 5 **

**By: Seravy **

* * *

When she first dreamt of that woman she had only thought of it as a figment of her imagination. How she knew the hazy figure, ambling towards her across a vast plain of flowers, was a woman? A soft feeling in her heart told her so.

In the dream, she could only ever reach out and scream. Nothing would leave her throat, the words obliterated as if forbidden. All the more desperate, she would extend her hand in vain hopes that they would be able to meet sooner. Around them, strong gusts of winds would wreak havoc across the plain, petals of all sorts of colours thick in the air, pulling her away and taking her into the bright blue sky. A pair of doors would then shut her into darkness. Every time she reached this segment of the dream, fear with a tinge of hope would enslave her as she anticipated the inevitable: Cold blades of pain would slice into her abdomen, followed by a burst of hot sadness in her chest. Yet she always told herself that she had to endure this. Someone was waiting for her and all she had to do was wait. It was as if she had split into two halves, one with knowledge that the other part didn't have. She would obey until the agony became unbearable, breaking into reality with tears streaking her face, remnants of the dream echoing within its absence.

The first time she had this dream was on the night of her sixteenth birthday. Ever since, she had been searching for her. Throughout the world, on a sacred quest but all in vain. She wasn't one to simply wait for destiny to claim her and yet, this time, she decided to wait.

So when Kurusugawa Himeko approached her today, Fushio Miya responded only with calm and tact. Desperation was evident in every gesture and word of the blonde photographer, not unlike other fans in the past. Were it anyone else, it would have been acceptable: the awe that people have towards celebrities is a condition that society has imposed upon them. But she was supposed to be the one from her dreams, wasn't she?

She wanted nothing more than for this trite conversation to end but at the same time, she wanted to wait… just a little more. She was immediately disappointed as the girl brought up her necklace. It was a well-known fact that she wore this piece of jewelry, having even seen imitations of it on a few fans.

She humoured the blonde on this topic until she found herself caught completely off guard. People always exercised caution around her, showing only what they want others to see. Expression, she had found, is a calculated endeavor.

Yet Kurusugawa Himeko offered her nothing but the truth, allowing her to decide what it was that she wanted to see. And she saw kindness, strength and innocence. Furthermore, she saw devotion. While she had wavered on her quest, this girl before her had never once doubted in her pursuit, evident in the pride in which she spoke about the one who was waiting for her.

For once, she felt the power of impulse. Her words and actions were her own, without the control of thought and the past. Just as the two pieces of seashells were about to connect though, they were interrupted.

Kurusugawa Himeko immediately moved between her and the uninvited guest. Her shoulders were visibly shaking, flinching as the man effortlessly removed his obstacles but still, she remained instead of fleeing with the others.

Everything became a blur of instincts, pain and shock. Even when it was easier to leave without her, the girl stayed by her side, even willing to use her own body to shield her from harm.

As the amateur photographer's body crashed into hers, a sweet supple scent wafted around her. She could not explain what happened next except that a blinding light engulfed them. Within its cradle of infinite arms, a familiar warmth and peace seeped into her skin. Something inside her answered back, dancing with the light and Miya knew for sure… she was the one. Even as death was about to touch them, she found only peace within mankind's worst fear.

When Miya opened her eyes again, she felt tears blurring her vision. On top of her lay the unconscious girl, arms pressing them so close together that Miya could feel her heart beating against hers. They were alive, safe even as she saw no sign of that man. Impulsively, she called the girl's given name, without honorifics. A soft murmur answered her and she knew that Himeko was unharmed.

However, it wasn't long before the quiet air was invaded by the sound of others, flittering down from the stairs. Miya had no choice but to separate their entangled bodies. It would introduce an immense amount of trouble into the girl's life if anyone saw the compromising position in which they were in. To her surprise though, as she gently laid the slumbering girl down onto her back, she spotted what should have been lost amongst the destruction. Their respective pieces of seashell have somehow survived and found their way to remain close to their owners. The chain that looped through the hole, punctured at the top was lost. Scratches marred the once flawless smoothness of the shells but still, after everything, they survived as whole pieces. Miya picked them up and slipped them into her pocket.

Medics and police poured in, most of them surrounding her. She easily waved their attention away, stealing glances towards the unconscious photographer as they lifted her onto the stretcher.

Juri emerged from underneath the large plastic backdrop screen looking disheveled but otherwise unharmed. Her manager, however, wasn't so lucky, brought away, unconscious, on a second stretcher. There was blood running down the left side of her temple, a look of agony etched upon her doll-like features. She too, had gotten hurt, trying to protect her and it made Miya boil with silent rage. On the ambulance, the pianist stayed by her manager's side until they were forced to separate by a flock of doctors at the hospital.

Just to be safe, she insisted that the panther have a check-up. Miya didn't doubt that her request would be met with resistance. To her dismay, Juri countered her with what she thought was the most childish line of reasoning; the former-model will comply as long as she went through a series of unnecessary tests as well. It was difficult to retain an air of composure as they lightly "bantered". Miya knew that it was only out of concern that Juri made such a request and soon relented as did the older woman.

The medical results, as expected, revealed that her health was in good order aside from a few bruises. Juri's revealed a similar outcome aside from two stitches to her left thigh. Kisaragi Otoha, wheeled away two hours later, suffered a minor concussion and two cracked ribs. She also made a courtesy inquiry about the security guards who were present, followed by, as discretely as she could, Kurusugawa Himeko. Doctors informed her that the blonde photographer had simply passed out and will regain consciousness in due course.

Of course, with her and Juri cleared to leave, the police were eager to document the incident. The older woman took immediate charge, calling lawyers and making other arrangements. Under other circumstances, she would have felt indignant by the implication that she needed protection. This time, however, she took the opportunity to slip into the eighth floor after finding out where her manager and the photographer were situated from Juri.

Quietly, she entered Room #870, feeling guilty for choosing this as her first destination. The windows were open with the setting sun boldly stepping in with various shades of red, orange and purple. It was a nice clean space if not for the pungent smell of disinfectants distinct to hospitals.

Miya kept her footing light, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

"I'm sorry I doubted you," she whispered.

Leaning down, she brushed aside Himeko's blonde bangs and pressed her lips lightly against the slumbering girl's forehead. The simple contact made her heart race, fingers tracing reminiscently over the contours of that innocent face.

She knew she couldn't stay here long for Juri could only deflect the prying gaze of the media for so long. But she feared that Himeko would wake up alone, thinking that she had abandoned her. Swiftly, Miya retrieved the two salvaged pieces of seashells. She then took Himeko's right hand into her own and placed the pendants into the center of her palm. Guiding the limp fingers, she closed them tightly with her own. She knew the girl would understand what it meant and that they'll see each other soon. Just not now.

"Thank you for finding me," said Miya.

She took one last look before slipping quietly out to face the world.

* * *

The first thing that Kisaragi Otoha saw when she woke up was the one thing that she did _not_ want to see in this entire world.

Arisugawa Juri with her ridiculously curled tangerine locks and a look that reeked of arrogance was sitting BESIDE her in a chair by her bed as if deriving some sort of sick amusement at the sight of her bedridden and injured. A headache was already throbbing in her head and she did not need that conceited harlot to worsen it.

Any other normal decent human being would have at least said "How are you feeling?" or "Are you alright". However, being abnormal with an ego the size of Jupiter, the first thing that Arisugawa Juri said to her was "You may thank me now for saving your life."

Indignant, she quickly spat out "No, you didn't!", enduring the reverberating pain that it caused to her ribs. In nowhere in her memory did she remember such an event happening.

To her horror, the tall possibly anorexic ex-model deadpanned her answer: "Did too."

"Did not!" was her reflexive rejoinder.

What followed, without her even realizing it, was the most irrational and juvenile argument of "Did not" and "Did too" between two adults.

As she was heaving with anger, Revolution's CEO finally stopped the childish exchange after her last "Did not!"

"Miya is fine the way."

"I figured since you had time to argue with me over something so ridiculous," grumbled Otoha, "Where is ojou-sama?"

"Somewhere around the hospital."

"What?! How could you let her out of your sight when there's a psyc--"

"Exactly," interrupted Juri, "Something isn't right. That man that attacked her this morning… he had powers that can't possibly be classified as normal."

Otoha fell silent. The man had superhuman strength as well as the ability to move his weapon as if it were an extension of his body.

"So Miya will be staying with me for the next couple of days."

She immediately opened her mouth to protest but Juri simply drowned her out by rising her voice.

"—Until you've recovered that is."

Otoha refused to nod in consent so she let her wordless disapproval be her grudging answer.

"Also, you were unconscious at the time but the studio was basically crumbling down on us… how odd that none of it hit us," murmured Juri as if having an inner dialogue out loud. When she had reached Otoha, she was unsure whether to move her or not with the damage that the small woman had sustained. With the destruction around them, getting worst by the insane rampage of the intruder, then and there, Juri decided to stay where they were. She threw the plastic screen over them both in hopes that it would at least protect them from shrapnels of glass and other debris. She then remember seeing and feeling a powerful light through the plastic covering. Within its protective warmth, she forgot all about the danger that surrounded them until the sound of help pierced the silence. When Juri tossed the screen away, to her amazement and shock, the wreckage of spotlights and shattered equipment encircled them as if an invisible boundary prevented any of it to cross its circumference.

In all honestly, Juri did not expect answers but she did concede that the bedridden woman was devoted to Miya's protection and deserved to be informed about such serious matters. This wasn't just lunch after all.

However, before Otoha had a chance to share her insights, the door swung open to reveal Fushio Miya.

"Did I interrupt something?" asked the pianist, polite and poised as always.

"No, Otoha was just thanking me for saving her life."

"No, I wasn't!!" exclaimed the enraged manager before she could stop herself.

"Were too."

Otoha almost bit her tongue from preventing the obvious answer from escaping her mouth.

* * *

**END Chapter 5**

**  
A/N**: Nothing important, just a heads-up type of thing. I think I've decided to make "Reset" a sort of an experimental writing space. It won't be edited, just me, firing whatever that comes just to gauge how well I do on my own. So there will be more mistakes and some things won't be as smooth but I think this will be a good exercise for me, especially in developing speed.


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